Betrayal
by butalearner
Summary: Winner of the DLP February 2013 Apocalyptic/Dystopian Fiction Contest! Attempting to hold the trio together, Hermione grabs Ron just before he Apparates, accidentally abandoning Harry on the Horcrux hunt. Four years later, Harry is a changed man.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: JK Rowling rules. You know the drill.

Summary: Winner of the DLP February 2013 Apocalyptic/Dystopian Fiction Contest! Attempting to hold the trio together, Hermione grabs Ron just before he Apparates, accidentally abandoning Harry on the Horcrux hunt. Four years later, Harry is a changed man.

Preface: So this is the reason that updates to Harry Silvertongue have been rather slow: I spent much of January and a good chunk of February on this new dystopian story. It's my darkest story yet! Note that this is pretty close to the version entered in the contest, but I've made some minor tweaks and fixes where appropriate.

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**Prologue**

**Hermione Granger**

"Stop it! It's the Horcrux making you act like this, you know it's true! Just...take it off...please..." I felt hot tears streaking down my face, but I was desperate. My two best friends were at each others' throats. We'd been out here searching for these dreadful things for months, and it certainly didn't help that we'd been carrying one all this time. Even the name inspired dread: Horcruxes, physical soul anchors containing a shard of the blackest soul of our day. I'd heard the whispers myself, so I knew what Ron was going through. But Ron had always been...sensitive, and only Harry's preternatural ability to forgive made the friendship work through all its ups and downs.

But even Harry Potter's forgiveness was not infinite. He wore the Horcrux the most. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, bearer of the crushing burden of prophecy, destined to battle the most dangerous dark wizard in history...and that was only after obtaining and destroying these priceless and nigh-indestructible artifacts. How he kept on in the face of all that, I have no idea. How he seemed to be in better shape than both Ron and I despite it...

A heavy raindrop pelted the tent, causing us all to freeze at the noise. Then another, then another. I could smell the rain just before the downpour hit, and just to further the insult, thunder rumbled in the distance. Perfect.

"Making excuses for him again, Hermione?" Harry shook his head, seeming to come down from his anger once the rain had picked up. "How many times, Ron? How many times are we going to go through this?" I recognized the gesture: Harry was giving up on patching it up with Ron, at least for the moment. It drove the wedge splitting my heart in two just a little bit deeper.

"That's not fair!" Ron shot back. "That stuff's in the past!"

"A past that you seem intent on repeating every time the going gets tough," Harry said, his voice still steady and calm. He turned his back on us. "I've heard you whispering to Hermione behind my back, once again believing that I'm hiding something from you."

"She said it, too! She said she was disappointed, she—"

"I didn't say it like that, Harry," I cried. "Please, I didn't!"

"So it's like last year instead of fourth year, then?" His words cut me deeply. He was right, of course: I hadn't believed him about Draco Malfoy plotting, and Headmaster Dumbledore was dead...murdered in the very castle that was supposed to be the safest place in the country. Maybe if only I had listened, tried to help him...

"No, it's not like that," I argued, wiping my face as best I could. "I know you're disappointed, too, Harry! That's all I meant!" I pleaded silently for Harry to turn around, to not give up on me, too, but he didn't comply. The silence stretched for several seconds, and I could feel Ron's ire growing.

"So why are you still here?" Harry's voice was dead.

"Search me," Ron spat.

"Then go," Harry replied in the same monotone.

"Yeah, maybe I will!" Ron started to stomp away, then turned. "You don't care, do you? You heard what they said about Ginny, but you don't care! It's only the Forbidden Forest, isn't it? Harry I've-Faced-Worse Potter can handle it, so why couldn't she? Well, I care, all right? Giant spiders, other mental stuff—"

"Ron," I pleaded. I knew how that barb must have affected Harry. He had the entire Wizarding World relying on him, and with the first news about the girl he fancied all last year so ominous... Just another force tugging at Harry's will, stretching him too thin. "We talked about this: between Bill's scars, George's ear, and your supposed spattergroit—"

Ron, once again, was having none of that. "Oh, yes, you're sure, are you? I just won't bother myself about them, then. It's alright for you two, with your families safely out of the way!"

I staggered back, stunned that he would say such a thing. Harry's parents were dead, and I Memory Charmed mine and sent them packing. I made my own parents forget my entire existence, and Ron just tore the wound back open without a single thought.

Harry turned then, but instead of the fiery anger I expected – instead of the fiery anger I felt – his green-eyed stare was pure ice. "Leave the Horcrux. Get out of my sight."

Even Ron flinched at that. "So, that's it, then? You're just going to abandon—"

Harry blew out an incredulous breath, and I agreed with him. "After all that, you have the nerve to say I'm abandoning you? Honestly, Weasley, I've heard enough of your idiocy for one night. Leave the Horcrux and go."

"Idiot, am I? That's right—"

"Merlin! What's it going to take to get rid of you? Yes, you are an idiot and a coward, and frankly, at this point, I like my chances better without you."

Ron pulled his wand, but once Harry stopped fighting the escalation Ron sought, I was ready for the inevitable explosion. "_Protego_!" The strength of the barrier between the two of them forced them both to take a step back.

Ron glared at me for a moment before opening his mouth, but Harry beat him to the punch. "Leave the Horcrux," he said, then turned around and walked to his bunk.

Ron let out a frustrated yell and turned back to me. "Well?"

I knew it was coming, but inanely, despite the anger and heartbreak, I felt like I still had to try to stop this mistake. I needed to find a way to keep us together. I needed to think! "Well what?" I stalled, trying to muddle through the maelstrom of emotion and think.

"Are you staying, or what?"

"I..." I stalled again. I shut my eyes, thinking furiously. What could I possibly say to fix this? "I..."

"Come on, Hermione—"

"Yes, I'm staying! All right? We said we'd go with Harry. We said we'd help—"

"I get it. You choose him." He opened his mouth to accuse me further, then just shook his head, pulled off the locket, dropped it on the floor, and walked out of the tent.

"Ron, no, that's not—please, come back! Come back!" I charged out of the tent after him, not even sure what I hoped to accomplish. Their friendship was broken, possibly beyond all repair, now. But Harry needed all the help he could get, and right now Ron was the only other one who knew the whole story. He wasn't a coward, despite what Harry claimed, and I was sure Harry knew it and was only saying it to end the argument.

Ron used his height to take loping strides, but I was desperate to hold the three of us together. I caught him just as he reached the wards. "Ron, wait!" I grabbed his arm and suddenly felt the world squeeze around me, like I was being sucked through a straw. Ron just Apparated away and took me with him! I landed hard on wet flagstones in some village, where flickering torchlight cast long shadows between flashes of lightning

Ron spun around and looked at me in shock. "What—?"

My own shock turned to horror as I realized what we just did. "No!" I jumped up and tried to Apparate back to the tent, but quickly faltered as the wards I placed prevented me. It was dark, so I didn't get a good look at the place from which we Disapparated, and the surrounding wood had blurred in my mind so thoroughly that I couldn't picture anything nearby.

We couldn't get back. I couldn't back to Harry. "Harry...we..." We abandoned him. I abandoned him to Voldemort. "Voldemort..." My voice wouldn't work. My brain wouldn't work. No words...no thoughts could contain the depth of my horror. I sunk back to the flagstones and cried, only vaguely aware of the pops of Apparition around us.

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A/N:

I'm sure you've seen this setup before, but we shall descend into despair in no time.

As usual, let me know if you find any problems, and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Hermione's abandonment of Harry Potter is not a subliminal message for JK Rowling to release Harry Potter into the public domain.

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**Chapter One**

**Blaise Zabini**

"_Avada Kedavra_," I said dispassionately. A small green ball of light leapt from my wand and struck the Muggle woman in the chest. Her body, rigid with pain only moments earlier, slumped to the table on which she was strapped with a hollow thunk.

"Aw c'mon Zabini, have a little fun would you?"

I turn my head slowly to regard Theo Nott, my Slytherin classmate up until we finished Nearly Exhausting Wizarding Tests three years earlier. We'd gotten far more Outstandings than we deserved, of course, so the whole thing was meaningless. It pissed me off, but at that point there was little else to be done. Once Dumbledore died and Potter disappeared, everything went to hell. My best friend, Tracey Davis, fled the country like so many others before her younger brother Matthew could be forced into joining the Death Eaters.

Like I had been. Oh, I had been given a choice. Without a father to protect me, it was join or die. Matt, as a half-blood, would have been given the same options, if he was lucky.

"Are we done yet?" I asked lazily, then decided to needle him a bit. "The Order could be here any moment, you know."

His eyes widened in fear a moment, then he glared. "They couldn't have detected us so fast, you bloody coward." I forced a smirk at his discomfort. The Order of the Phoenix had been a bogeyman for all the Death Eaters for the past few years. But I wasn't even sure they existed anymore; they certainly didn't have any influence at the Ministry or at Hogwarts. Sure, a number of Death Eaters had died over the past two years, but I just figured blaming the Order was just a cover for infighting. Jockeying for position was expected among Death Eaters. Nott glanced at the woman. "Honestly, how can you even pull that off in your state? I've seen you do it a dozen times and I still don't get it."

Occlumency was the only reason I could hold back my emotions, which would be pretty damn obvious if Nott wasn't an idiot. I was not advanced enough to believably fake emotions like some others, but detachment came easily enough to me after all the practice throughout Hogwarts. Either way, I was not about to cure his ignorance; he was ostensibly the leader in this group, but he knew I was smarter than him and I had always made him look good to his father back before he died, so Theo largely left me to my own devices. So I just shrugged, as usual. Yes, the Killing Curse needs the caster's hatred, but it doesn't have to be directed at the target. If you hate somebody that is present when you cast it, the proximity of that person fuels the Curse.

Luckily for me, I'm always present when I have to do it.

"Whatever," Nott said, still disbelieving, "Let's go grab Murton and Tripe and head back." Then his eyes widened in anticipation. "Oh yeah! It's our turn again!" With that, he sprinted up the out the door and up the stairs. Damien Murton and Viridian Tripe were fresh out of Hogwarts, which was a full up Death Eater training ground now. I had thought it was bad when I was there, but...I looked back at the Muggle woman. She was the mother of a Muggleborn who was killed there, and we were here to tie up loose ends. We didn't want to give them a chance to expose our world, after all. Thank Merlin old Deputy Headmistress McGonagall destroyed the Hogwarts registry before she died, otherwise we'd be chasing down every name on it.

The thundering coming from the stairwell made me sigh. I was most certainly not looking forward to getting back.

"'_No, she can't be, she can't have_,'" Murton mimicked with his nose pinched to give his voice a nasal quality. Tripe doubled over with laughter, but to me Murton's jocular attitude seemed a bit forced. He was trying to get used to this, I figured.

"Muggles are so stupid," Tripe said in his deep, thick voice. He reminded me heavily of Vincent Crabbe, another former classmate of mine who accidentally killed himself at the Battle of Hogwarts. How these morons got into Slytherin, Hogwarts' supposed House of cunning and ambition, I had no idea.

"C'mon, let's go already," Nott said impatiently, even though he had been laughing along with them. He had only just then pulled out the rope portkey, too, which would transport us back to our base of operations. He glanced nervously over at the windows while the rest of us took our places. I guess my comment about the Order made him more nervous than he wanted to admit. In truth, it made me a little nervous, too...not that I would show it.

A familiar tug behind the navel and disorienting tumble later, I landed on my feet in the entryway at Nott Manor. That was what he called it, anyway. I think it made him feel more important, even though it certainly lacked the graceful marble staircases and other hints of obscene wealth at what used to be Malfoy Manor. Still, it wasn't a poor or insignificant house by any stretch. The gray marble tiles on the floor, the massive burgundy rug, and crystal chandelier still lent the appearance of money, even though much of the rest of the house wasn't too special. Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass were waiting for us there, wearing very little in the way of clothing on their bodies and even less in the way of expression on their faces. Their eyes, dark with unnatural lust, were fixed on the floor in front of them.

"Ladies," Nott said, trying to make his voice deeper. I wondered if he acted like this to make it seem more real, even though neither of them ever responded. Draco Malfoy had whored Pansy out for years before the Dark Lord killed him. She was actually worth it back in her Hogwarts days: energetic and naturally lustful, even if she was a bitch to almost everyone else. After Malfoy and his father got killed off, though, she just broke, losing weight right along with her fiery passion. Draco was going to marry her, but as his star fell, so did hers. No pureblood would want her, now, so she just let anybody do what they want to her.

And there are some pretty fucked up Death Eaters.

"Greengrass," Nott said after a moment. He jerked his head toward the stairway and started up. With an emotionless glance at me, she followed without a word.

"Go on, Zab," Murton said, nudging me toward Pansy.

"Nah," I said, "I'll wait." Pansy didn't react to that, she just continued waiting with her eyes down.

"Bah, I don't see what you like about Greengrass," Murton said. "Parkinson's got better tits—"

"Bigger ones," Tripe added helpfully.

"—and a nicer ass," Murton finished as he walked over to her. He gave it a squeeze for good measure.

It was probably true; despite the weight loss, Pansy still had more in the way of feminine curves than Daphne. If I'd chosen for such things – and were not sickened by the whole situation now – I might have taken Murton up on the offer. Instead, in reply I just walked over to one wall, conjured a chair, sat down and waved them off.

"Suit yourself," Murton said with a sigh, tossing his arm around Pansy's shoulders and affixing his hand on her breast. "C'mon Tripe," he called as he started heading up the stairs. I once again thanked Merlin for Occlumency. Those two almost always went together.

I pulled out the book I'd been reading – one of the few wizarding fiction novels – and enlarged it, but I wasn't going to get anywhere with it tonight. My thoughts drifted up to Daphne, which made me think of Tracey and the Davis family again. I had wanted to go with them. I begged my mother to come with me, but she had too much invested in his position here, she said. Her so-called 'position' was well-known to me. She didn't become a widow seven-times over out of bad luck, after all. I forced the thought away at the same time I forced the bile back down my throat. Those kinds of thoughts are the only thing that can break my ability to block emotions, and I don't think that will ever change no matter how skilled I become. There are some things that are just off-limits.

It's not all her fault, though...that bloody fool Draco Malfoy brought my name to his father in his list of potential recruits, as if he knew me at all. It wasn't his fault, either, though. I had enough in my school vault to escape, but I didn't want to leave my mother. I procrastinated; I hadn't thought it could get this bad, and I paid for it dearly.

The loud pop of another portkey returning jolted me out of my ruminations. The four other Death Eaters using Nott's house as a base of operations had returned. Marcus Flint had been several years ahead of me – I can't be exact because he was the only student I knew of that actually had to repeat a year at Hogwarts. And considering the lack of intelligence in his group-mates Greg Goyle and Millicent Bulstrode, that was saying something. The fourth guy I only knew as Montague. I didn't know if he was related to Graham, who had been two years ahead of us in school; I just knew he led the other group and was a damned bastard. The other three were enormously heavy, but he was thin as a rail and ugly as sin. He didn't appreciate the irony that his name meant 'mountain' yet he was the only one in his group not built like one. If Nott didn't have control of the wards that gave him the capability to toss the guy out on his ass, I was sure he'd have tried to kill Nott at some point. There was enough tension in the air as it was.

"What's goin' on, Zabini?" Flint's ogre-like visage twisted into a cruel smile. "Kill some _Muggles_ today?" The word came out like a curse. Montague scoffed and walked into the kitchen, while Goyle and Bulstrode stood dumbly where they landed.

"The mother begged for her daughter and for her life, and so forth and so on," I said, not bothering to sound interested.

With Montague gone it didn't really matter what I said; Flint laughed as if I'd said something hilarious. "Nice. Where's Nott?"

"Party time," I replied dispassionately.

"Damn!" He punctuated this by punching his hand. "I forgot about that, you lucky bastards. When will they give us our turn, anyway?"

"No clue," I lied. Thanks to the supposed efforts of the Order, the Death Eaters and their 'prizes' both died in approximately equal portions, so our reward was actually fairly regular. But these guys were too stupid to realize Bulstrode was meant to be theirs. Her father and Goyle's father had gotten themselves killed, so this was their punishment, while Flint was too stupid to trust with anything important. Montague, on the other hand...I had heard that he failed a direct mission from Voldemort and got tortured to near insanity. He actually saw that as a point of pride, even though the only respect he received was from junior Death Eaters who were terrified of him.

"Whatever," Flint said, "I'm going to eat. C'mon you fat arses." He punched the other two on their arms and drug them into the kitchen after Montague.

I shook my head, pushing them out of my mind for the moment and trying to return to reading. I read the same passage five times before I shrunk my book back down and leaned forward to put my head in my hands to return to my thoughts. When I sat and tried to figure out where it all went wrong, it always went like this. My first thought was to blame others, then I blamed myself, then I blamed life in general. But I could never figure out what the hell to do about any of it. I could try and find the Order, but I'm liable to get myself killed trying that. I might as well attack the other Death Eaters directly; that's be less painful than getting caught deserting and tortured.

Just like Draco.

That damned fool bragged all throughout school about his father and the Dark Lord, and he tried to run. Granted, I threw up every meal I ever had when they made me kill my first Muggle girl, a teenager my age who had begged me for her life. And that was just some random Muggle that I didn't know. So I doubt if I could have killed Looney Lovegood myself, like they tried getting him to do. Still, he was the fool for putting himself in that position.

A creak on the stairwell drew my attention. There, dressed in the same clothing and looking for all the world like nothing had happened, stood Daphne. She gestured for me to follow, so I did. I wasn't sure what I would have felt about this if I wasn't blocking my emotions. She never put any effort into being sexy, but she didn't really have to, in my opinion. She was just...graceful in a way that few girls were. Women, I corrected myself. She reminded me of my—I mean, of Draco's mum. I had to fight the bile down again. Draco's mother had survived the destruction of the Malfoy family and took her maiden name. Despite her fall, she was every inch the graceful, aristocratic, effortlessly sensual Lady she had been. Of course, the fact that Daphne wasn't doing it consciously only made it worse, because she wasn't doing it for me.

She led us into the furthest guest room at the end of the hall, decorated rather depressingly in dark green. That didn't really narrow it down, though, because every guest room I've seen in this house was the same way. This one was the largest and the nicest, though, with a four-poster, queen-size bed and an attached bathroom and walk-in closet. The room was a bit larger than Theo's, actually, though his had a nicer bathroom.

As soon as the door shut behind me, I turned only to find Daphne throwing herself into my arms.

"Daph," I murmured, holding her tight as her entire body shook. She didn't make a sound, though. I held her like that for some minutes, pity threatening to break through my mental barriers. Here was a girl who volunteered herself for this – volunteered for this hell – just to save her sister from the same fate. She had convinced her parents to send Astoria to Beauxbatons to finish school, where she would live with some relatives during the summer. She had completed her NEWTs, and last I heard was dating some rich Greek wizard she'd met there and they were traveling all around the world. Exactly the kind of thing Daphne deserved.

"Please," Daphne said, wrenching me back to the present. Her face was still hidden against my chest.

"You know I can't," I replied.

"It's not for you," she countered.

"I know," I countered back, playing the same game we always played when it was our turn, except this game had absolutely nothing to do with fun. We tried before, a couple years ago. It ended up making her feel worse immediately afterward, so I never accepted again. Thanks to the Memory Charms, though, she didn't remember either night, so she kept asking. She was occasionally allowed to retain memories from Ministry parties where she wasn't lent out to some ancient wizard for a vote, but other than that, all she ever remembered was serving food and drink at various Death Eater and Ministry functions. Not that they were terribly different, these days. I didn't have the heart to try and explain what happened between us over and over again. "I'm sorry."

She nodded as if expecting that answer, then, after one final shudder where I knew she was fighting the effects of the lust potion, she slipped away into the bathroom such that I wouldn't see her face. I wouldn't look anyway. I laid on the bed, legs dangling off, wondering if she and I would have tried to make it work if this hadn't happened. I might have had the guts to ask Tracey out, I guess, but that seemed like a lifetime ago, now. I can't imagine being with her now, even if she would have wanted me. I can't imagine the life she would have led if she hadn't left. For that matter, I can't imagine the life I would have led if I had, either. I would still be the same stupid kid, wouldn't I?

It's ironic that I was too stupid to see what I might have had until I didn't deserve to have it. I stopped exchanging letters with her two years ago.

The door to the bathroom opened to reveal a perfectly poised Daphne, once again looking exactly as she did when we arrived. No, not exactly, I corrected myself – she was still more relaxed around me, and the potion was wearing off. "Have you heard from Stori?" Her voice was almost normal when she asked.

I shook my head. "Not since the last letter I told you about." She had said she'd be in Greece for a while, visiting with his family and tracking down distant cousins of the Greengrasses.

She nodded, then got a faraway look in her eyes. "She must still be traveling."

"She's happy, I'm sure," I said.

The corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly at that. "I hope so."

Once again the horror of her situation threatened to overwhelm me. Daphne had had a very public spat with her sister in order to get her to move away. Astoria had very conveniently stumbled upon her then-boyfriend, some complete berk of a Ravenclaw in her year, in bed with Daphne three summers ago. With some firewhiskey in his system courtesy of myself, he awoke and didn't even realize he was set up. Astoria barely even looked at him before whipping his clothes at him and laying into Daphne.

A rumbling boom shook the house slightly, freezing us in place. "What was that?" Her voice betrayed her fear, making my own that much worse.

"Bloody Tripe, probably," I said, though I didn't really believe it. Not even he could make noise like that.

Another boom, this one louder than the first, made my teeth chatter. I shot off the bed and dashed to the door, throwing it open. Stepping out into the corridor, I glanced both ways but saw nothing amiss. Murton crashed out into the hall shortly after, pulling his shirt on. "What the hell—?"

A third boom, even louder than the others, actually threw me off balance. Daphne stumbled into me just as a loud crash pierced the air, followed by cries of alarm from the four others downstairs. When I heard them start frantically shouting spells, I ducked back in the room. "Daphne, try to—"

"Anti-apparition ward's up," she cut me off. "Not ours." She didn't sound panicked, she merely sat on the bed.

"What about—"

"No portkey either," she said, anticipating the question, "we're supposed to be picked up tonight."

Shit. "Wands out?"

Daphne shook her head and scoffed. "You know I don't have my wand anymore." I cursed myself for forgetting. "And besides, you think I care enough about 'our side' to fight for it? No, if that's the Order I've heard about, they won't kill me if I don't lift a wand. If it's something else...well..." She shrugged. She was just going to let them kill her.

I didn't reply – the fact was, I was probably dead either way. Every instinct told me to flee, but...wasn't this the opportunity I was just hoping for? If I covered up the Mark, would they hesitate long enough to listen? I know our former Head of Slytherin House and Potions Professor had supposedly been killed for feeding information to the Order, so maybe I had a chance. It got quiet, and my nerves threatened to break. What was happening? Montague and Flint would have fought to the death, and Goyle and Bulstrode likely would have joined them. So they're probably all dead. What about Murton and Tripe? Did they find Nott?

Then a more frightening thought struck me: what if I missed my chance?

Stepping lightly as I could manage, I opened the door slightly to peek out, only to have it slammed into my face. My vision blacked for a moment as I reeled back, and before I knew it I was sitting on the floor in front of the bed, almost touching Daphne's leg. I regained my senses in time to freeze in horror at the sight in front of me.

It was a demon.

That was the only way to describe the man that entered. His tattered black robes were splashed gratuitously with blood, which still dripped to the floor at his feet. His haggard face, lips drawn up into a snarl, was framed with messy black hair and coarse, uneven black beard. What frightened me most, however, were the eyes. They were glowing green – Killing Curse green – behind familiar round wire-frame spectacles.

"Potter," I breathed, only just realizing that blood dripped down my own face from my nose. It and my forehead throbbed with barely recognized pain, but it was buried underneath the fear of this man. This was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived? I had heard that he'd changed, but I still saw him in my mind as the short, skinny Gryffindor that annoyed Malfoy to no end. But no, this was terrifying. Potter's right arm, held out so his wand pointed directly at my face, was shaking, but not with fear...it was with rage. Palpable, suffocating, terrifying rage, far worse than any time I'd ever been in the presence of the Dark Lord.

"The Dark Mark," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Its corruption...its...stench...pervades this place." His eyes fixated on my arm, and my blood ran cold despite the fact that I knew the Mark was covered. "And it is not gone yet."

"Wait," Daphne's voice pleaded, and I could finally exhale during that moment of distraction.

With his attention split, I'd recovered enough to actually speak. "Please, don't hurt Daphne."

"Daphne?" He repeated, confusion plain in his voice. "NO!" Potter roared, but not at her. He grasped his head and stumbled back, eyes closed, and once again I felt the terror increase, though part of it came from me. He was clearly unhinged. My hand inched ever so slightly toward my wand, and like lightning his own and Killing Curse green eyes were aimed at me once again. The eyes were the more frightening of the two. "Pull your wand. Come on, PULL IT, DAMN YOU!"

My hand moved slowly as far away from it as possible. At that point, picking it up was the last thing I was going to do. Was he actually going to spare me if I didn't? Merlin, I hoped so. "Please," I repeated, "she's not marked. She's not here by choice."

"Blaise," she hissed, and Potter's eyes snapped to her. I could see her shrink back out of the corner of my eye.

When no curses flew, I took this as a positive sign. So I continued. "She did it to save her sister, Pott—Harry. Take her with you, please! Have the Order hide her—"

Potter laughed then, and it was a gravelly laughter completely devoid of mirth. "The Order, you say? The Order is dead, Death Eater."

My confusion was strong enough to push away some of the terror. "But all of those dead—"

"One hundred and twenty-two Death Eaters and seventy-nine sympathizers," Potter said, his glare flickering to Daphne when he said the latter, "all dead by my hand."

She gasped, and as far as I knew that was the first time in recent memory that she'd displayed any emotion in front of anyone besides me. "But...you're—"

"Some of them tried to talk to me, tried to save themselves, but they all drew their wands in the end." He glared at me while he said this, and once again breathing felt like I had Goyle sitting on my chest. "But you are the only one who asked to save someone else." Suddenly he roared again, gripping his blood-slicked hair so tightly that his knuckles whitened.

Potter was just as insane as the Dark Lord, I could see that, but the latter's controlled fury was predictable. I shivered with fear at the intensity of it, no matter how much I tried to fight the sensation.

"Blaise didn't want to take the Mark," Daphne blurted.

The deranged Boy-Who-Lived leaned up against the wall and panted, one hand on his chest, gripping some sort of medallion underneath his clothing. "It's too late for that," he ground out.

"No!" Daphne cried, trying to protest over his screams. "No, please! I tried telling you before—"

"No," Potter ground out, "the Dark Mark...He Knows you. Albus Dumbledore trusted a Death Eater that claimed to be reformed, and he died because of it."

My hopes of survival came crashing down, and I slumped back against the bed. "You won't kill Daphne?" My voice sounded hoarse, defeated.

"She might pull a wand on me, like the other," Potter said, his voice almost eager.

"You killed Pansy?" Daphne's voice was little more than a whisper.

"I killed seven Death Eaters and a sympathizer," he growled, anger appearing to rise again.

"She won't!" I said quickly. "She won't fight. She just wants to see her sister...can you take her?"

Thankfully my distraction worked, because now he looked confused. "Take her?"

She shuddered at the double meaning, so I quickly continued. "Take her away from here. Somewhere safe."

He laughed the same mirthless laugh. "Safe? There is nowhere safe for anyone against that bastard." Then he smiled a terrifying smile. "And I've made sure there is nowhere safe for anyone with him, either."

He was talking like he was going to kill me, but he hadn't yet. Why? Was there still a chance? He stared at me, and when his eyes flickered, I realized he was waiting for me to pull my wand. "I won't pull it on you, Harry. I never wanted this."

"If you had died fighting him, you wouldn't have killed the people you've killed," he said, his voice surprisingly clear. "And you might have lived, if you'd left."

I closed my eyes. He was right. Someone else would have killed them, but my own hands would be clean.

"You can't!" Daphne pleaded again. "He can spy for you, he knows Occlumency!"

Potter smiled, and once again I felt terror. He tapped his temple. "_He_ can see through my eyes, if he wishes, just as I can see through his. I need no spy. He could be watching right now."

That's it, then. "Daphne," I said, trying to halt her hyperventilating. "Daphne, he won't kill you." I got to my knees and looked at my wand.

"Blaise, don't..."

"Find your sister," I continued, slowly reaching my arm out, eyes fixed on Harry.

"No..."

"And if you see Tracey—" My voice faltered at that, and Daphne took advantage.

"No!" She threw herself against my side, pinning my wand arm against my body. "Please, stop," she begged, "it doesn't have to be like this."

"You heard him yourself," I said, my voice threatening to crack. "The Dark Lord could be watching, and even if I went back he could pull this entire conversation out of my mind. His Legilimency is too strong. This is the best way."

"No, you can still fight..." Her despondent voice, coupled with her tears, threatened to break me. If she felt this strongly about me, strong enough to cry...no, there's no sense in thinking about it now.

"I am going to fight," I said. "I'm going to fight Harry. If I beat him, then he has no chance against the Dark Lord anyway."

"That is acceptable," Potter said without emotion.

Daphne still didn't let it go, though. "But—"

"The Dark Lord would not make it quick, Daphne," I cut her off, suppressing a shudder at the thought. "You know this. Please let go."

"No," she said petulantly. She had apparently run out of arguments, and had resorted to stubbornness.

"If you see Tracey...tell her...I'm sorry. I should have gone with her."

"Tell her yourself," she countered. "Don't do this, Blaise. Don't."

I stood and pried her arms off of me – she wasn't very strong after her hospitality at the hands of the Death Eaters – and made her sit on the bed again. I glanced at Potter; his eyes were latched on us, but his expression remained unreadable. Turning back to Daphne and holding her wrists with one hand, I reached down slowly. She struggled feebly, chanting her denial.

Just as my fingers brushed against the polished alder wood, she wrenched one hand out. "No!"

I was faster, though. "_Petrificus Totalus_!" Her arms snapped to her sides and her legs shot out into a rigid position, and she fell onto the bed seemingly in slow motion, tears trailing down her frozen face. "I'm sorry about you most of all, Daphne. I'm sorry I couldn't save you." A tear trickled down my face. I couldn't stop it. "I wish—" I shook my head. It wouldn't do any good to wish now. "Don't provoke him, Daphne. Please, just get out of here; get away from all this. Do it for Stori, she'll forgive you. I just hope—" I trailed off again. I wanted her to forgive me, too, but I can't possibly ask that of her...not after all this. "I'm sorry."

I stood and tried to wipe my face clean of tears and blood, ignoring the throbbing from my nose and forehead. Then I turned to Potter. Tear tracks leading down to his filthy beard were the only indication that he felt anything at all. I nodded my thanks to him, then took a few steps to the side to make sure Daphne wouldn't get hurt. This man had me at his mercy, and based on what little I've seen, I have no chance to win. Do I even want to? Voldemort would pull this memory from me and torture me to death anyway. I could try to run, but—

"He is watching now," Potter said, stopping my thoughts and my heart. "I can feel his curiosity at what you will do. He wants to see what I will do as well." He smiled again. "Dumbledore is gone, Voldemort. There will be no quarter for those you have Marked, even when they renounce you. And renounce you they will. You are a coward, Tom Marvolo Riddle, and I will kill you."

The sharp burning on my arm forced me to recover from my shock at hearing the Dark Lord's real name. I ignored the summons. There was only one thing left to do. I couldn't speak. I'd said everything I wanted to say. So I just began to raise my wand, gathering up all the hatred I had for myself and the Dark Lord—no, Tom Riddle, I corrected myself – for his lies that destroyed so many families. Including the man in front of me. The tragedy that I was about to try to kill the man I should have fought beside was not lost on me. I knew I didn't deserve it, but I would try to live anyway.

"_Av_—" My wand hadn't even gotten up to his feet before a line of heat struck across my neck. Damn, he's fast! I felt a cascade of warmth down my body before I lost feeling. Then I felt cold. Then, mere moments after the silent Cutter hit, I felt nothing.

* * *

A/N:

Despair, I warned you! In case anybody missed it, this is nearly four years after the prologue.

Review!


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Thankfully, Dark Lady Rowling is quite forgiving of her humble followers that write fanfiction in her universe. (Just kidding Jo, you're not dark, don't sue me into oblivion).

Wow, lots of unhappy reviewers! In fact, two of the first twenty or so were flames, and it took me almost 400 total reviews spread across my other stories before I even got my second one overall. Maybe that means I'm getting better: whereas before they would just close the tab, this story must be just interesting enough that they get angry that it isn't better. Or maybe this story is just worse than my old stuff. Who knows? Either way, this story already finished and _I_ kinda like it, so you'll still get the rest of it whether you like it or not!

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**Daphne Greengrass**

I had been with Potter for over two weeks the first time I tried to kill him.

It wasn't really intentional...he just pissed me off and I threw a knife at him. It was pure luck that it struck blade first; I don't think I could do it again if I tried. In fact, it probably wouldn't have happened at all if he hadn't stuck his hand up to intercept it. I'd been using a large, perfectly normal, not-very-sharp kitchen knife to rather unskillfully cut vegetables as I prepared a meal, because of course he didn't have any enchanted knives to do it for me. I didn't know how to enchant one myself, and I didn't have my wand besides. Either way, the meals Potter ate were bland and just awful. Why that cheap bastard had so much money and ate like a pauper I had no idea, but I wasn't going to stand for it.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The first order of business was separating him from that damnable necklace at which he had constantly fingered and muttered. I'd never seen it – in fact I thought he was going to kill me the first time he caught my eyes on the chain – but it didn't take long for me to figure out it was bad news. At length I convinced him I didn't want to steal it by suggesting he Stun me and conceal it while I was out.

That was probably not my best idea, since we were eating at the time. I still think he took my advice immediately just to make me land face-first in mashed potatoes. Removing it worked almost immediately, as far as I could tell. He didn't even snarl when I next asked about it.

The tension that constantly hung about in the air around him and in his posture dissolved with the absence of that necklace. I didn't even realize how afraid I was of him until that happened. Bolstered by the improvement in the mood, I managed to force him to take me along to buy groceries. After Voldemort killed all the House Elves he could find – rumor had it a House Elf helped Potter escape once, since they were unaffected by anti-Apparition wards – and forced the others into hiding, I'd gotten a crash course in taking their place. It turned out most wizards and witches just stole food from the Muggle world, while the Muggleborns continued to buy it. Potter, unsurprisingly, said we'd pay.

Well, he didn't say it so much as just glare at me when I asked about it. Not that he had any trouble paying, anyway. I'd seen the massive stack of Muggle cash he pulled from his mokeskin pouch before we went; he took only took a few bills out and it was more than enough to pay for several days worth of food. We couldn't purchase more without taking a shopping cart, and disappearing with a shopping cart would have made us a bit conspicuous.

"Why do you live like this when you have so much money?" I had asked when I realized how much he had. I hadn't seen the outside because he had Apparated us here, and then he had Apparated us to a safe place near the grocer.

He just stared at me. He did that a lot. The expression clearly showed that I was asking a stupid question, but then, he apparently considered every question stupid. I should have known better to ask, but one tends to forget such things when one's roommate is an unrepentant, murdering, heartless, zombie bastard...necklace or no. Just when I thought he might answer me, he took in my clumsy vegetable chopping and asked, "how long is this going to take?"

That's when I threw the knife at him. The blood drained from my face when I saw it fly directly toward his. Horror gripped me not because I might kill him, but because I thought for certain a gruesome, painful end was imminent. I'd just broken my promise to Blaise, hadn't I? I stared, frozen, as Potter did nothing when the knife gashed his hand and clattered to the floor. He just stared at his hand for a moment before conjuring a bandage, wrapping his hand, and looking at me expectantly.

That was when it struck me: he said he wouldn't kill me unless I raised a wand against him. Of course, I wasn't about to test that hypothesis if I could help it. "I don't know," I answered, cursing my voice for shaking. I didn't look at him when I hurried over to retrieve the knife, though I could feel his eyes on me.

He went on another raid a day later. He didn't lock me in the bedroom like he did when he slept. "Don't try to Apparate out," he said as he apparently warded the front door.

"Why not?" I didn't really care to know, but he talked so damn little I wanted it to keep going. Not that I would trade his reticence for lust potions and rape. I suppressed a shudder and cursed myself for thinking of my past.

He shrugged. "Well, if you feel like dying..."

Ah, Malfoy Manor had similar protections these days: a Marked Death Eater needed to either side-along me there or ride the portkey with us. He could have been lying, I realized, but that wasn't something I was willing to experiment on. "But what if I'm attacked?"

That seemed to halt him in his tracks. His bathroom door slammed open and he Summoned a few wands from it before it slammed shut again. He tossed them to me, but I didn't catch any for fear that he'd construe it as an attack if I did, so they clattered to the floor around me. "In that case, good luck." Before I could protest, he spun in place and disappeared with a soft pop.

I stared at the space he had occupied moments earlier for some time, unsure about what I was supposed to feel about this latest development. I should be angry at the way he treated me, but...he left me free? And why should I be angry when I'd spent the last few years being treated far worse? I picked up each wand, searching for a reasonable match. None were as good as my maple and phoenix feather, but the moment I plucked a darker, red-tinted wand off the rug, long suppressed magic surged through my arm. It felt incredible to hold a wand again. In fact, I felt surprisingly good overall – powerful, even – like all the helplessness of the last few years had melted away. I might not be able to leave, but I could still do damage to his cause somehow.

High on the rush of power, I took a fresh look at my situation, eager to find weaknesses I could exploit...or at least needle Potter about when he returned. His food stores are open to me...but that's about it. I supposed I could try to bust into his bathroom, which he kept locked, but he probably wouldn't take too kindly to that. It didn't look that big when I managed to peek in on several occasions, so I figured he just didn't want me tampering with his toiletries. True, he'd apparently held some wands in there, but clearly he didn't care about this place. If I destroyed any of the things here, he could just take replacements from the next house he hit.

Hell, this probably wasn't even his place. He probably just killed the previous owners and moved in. Having been previously owned by Death Eaters actually made sense of the depressing decor around here. The ceiling was white, the walls were either a dark red or gray, and pretty much everything else was black, or close enough to it as makes no difference. The soot-blasted mantel over the fireplace held no floo powder, or showed signs of a recent fire; not that I expected either since he hadn't used it since I'd been there. The pantry was still stocked with the long-lasting food: bags of dry rice, dry beans, oats, various canned vegetables with faded labels, and a few small wooden barrels on the floor, the nearest of which was marked 'water' – all of which explained Potter's extremely bland culinary choices. Considering the food, I decided it must have been a safe house, though I wasn't sure – not that it mattered, I supposed – if it was one for the Death Eaters or for the Order.

At least, back when the Order existed. I found it strange to know that the Order of the Phoenix, the scary secret organization that supposedly killed so many of the Dark Lord's followers was real, but no more. It was all Potter. I shivered at the thought. How could he still do this after so long? I'd heard the rumors about his adventures at school, but I'd never believed them. It was just another example of Gryffindor false bravado, wasn't it? The fact that it had always been Malfoy who swore up and down that Potter made it all up didn't escape me. The ponce had pretty much threatened to curse anyone who said otherwise, and, House rivalry being what it was, I never really questioned it. Now, I wasn't so sure.

Looking around the place yet again, even now there wasn't really much indication that anybody lived here. Well, there was a half-empty glass of water on the table where I'd left it, and my outer robe still hung lazily over the back of the loveseat in the sitting room. But there were no portraits, no wizarding photos, no decorations aside from a bookshelf and candles – and those were clearly only present for functional purposes. It struck me that absolutely nothing of Potter's remained in sight. That thought brought me up short, and I had to fight down the urge to try and escape. Surely he wouldn't just abandon me here, would he? I slept in the only bedroom, so I know he hadn't packed anything up since I've been here.

A spike of despair threatened to overcome me at the memory of him showing me the bedroom. I'd thought he expected me to sleep with him...in more ways than one. After all, that's what I was for, wasn't it? But the lust potion had worn off... Shivering with the uncertainty of what had happened to me, I'd lain awake for the entire night the first few nights, terrified for the moment that he would come in and expect me to do what I'd done for so long. The Death Eaters figuratively– and probably literally – beat almost all sense of self-worth out of me. Recognizing that was a battle all on its own, let alone fighting against it. When the pounding on the door had invariably jerked me from my dozing, I almost screamed. Then he'd say breakfast was ready. It had taken me well into my fifth night before I could really fall asleep. Now, sitting here alone and pondering my time here, I realized I've had over a week of better sleep than I'd gotten for years. That realization startled and angered me. He killed Blaise! How can I be so relaxed around him?

A creaking sound somewhere above me jerked me out of my reverie, and brought my panic right back to the fore. My body froze mid-stride, but my mind raced. There were no stairs, were there? I hadn't seen any type of attic access, but I hadn't studied the ceiling in the bedroom too closely. I stood stock still, straining to hear any other sounds, but none came. The fear that someone was trying to get in soon gave way to the worry that Potter had left me here to die. I forced myself to think that he was simply prepared to abandon this place, if it became necessary. What reason would he have to kill me? Yes, he killed Blaise, but it had something to do with the Dark Mark, right? And I don't have it, so... That thought shamed me and angered me again.

I screamed in frustration. An oppressive silence was the only response.

I was getting nowhere with my thoughts, so I pushed the fear out of my mind and glanced around for something to do. A twinge of annoyance struck me when I considered starting on dinner so it'd be ready when Potter got back. It was too early anyway; he was probably following somebody to attack them later. _Gods damn it, stop thinking about acting like a house elf_! In my anger I thought very briefly of setting up an ambush to disable him and escape, but I didn't like my chances there, and I didn't have anywhere to go immediately anyway. Potter would probably be expecting that, too, and that's not to mention that he seemed to think that I would die if I tried to get out of here without him. Even if I could manage the anger and skill to beat him, I wasn't terribly interested in lying in wait for hours on end, not knowing when he'd be back. I shook the thought off and took a deep breath. My eyes wandered to the bookshelf, and I settled on reading. At first I just grabbed something at random, but as time passed and failures to focus mounted, I got back up to actually browse the books. I waffled between _Jigger's Fourth Potions Opuscule_ and _The Auror's Field Guide to First Aid_, eventually choosing the latter since I wasn't aware of any Potions equipment in this place.

I'd been in the middle of practicing the wand movement for the Delving Charm when a slight pop sounded in front of me and a flash of red filled my vision.

My eyes opened to the sight of Potter standing a few feet away, holding my wand in his left hand and staring at me without expression. "What the hell was that, Potter?" As soon as I said it I regretted it, because I realized my wand was pointed right at him when he Apparated in. Why am I even alive?

"You were looking at your book," he said as if in reply to my internal question. "That's the only reason you got a Stunner instead of something more permanent." Then he walked away.

I felt the blood drain from my face. _Circe's tits_, he reacted that fast? The clatter of pots and pans pulled me back to reality. "Wait, let me," I said, marking my place and jumping up to take over.

He didn't respond or even look at me; he just stopped fiddling with the pots and walked into his bathroom. This time, I was still too shaken to be annoyed by his behavior. Dealing with Potter was completely outside of my realm of experience. He always let me boss him around a bit when it came to the groceries, cooking, and grooming himself – that disgusting beard was the first to go. But, as he showed me in no uncertain terms a minute ago, he was most definitely the one in charge. Part of me wanted to cower, but part of me wanted to rebel and find a way to take control. Looking around the kitchen, I had some control, I realized. I pulled out an onion to dice it. Allowing me to choose what to eat was a tiny freedom, true, but it was more than I had for so long.

* * *

Over the next week I'd begun to revert to my old personality a bit. The fact that I didn't get the usual Memory Charm after my time at Nott's house actually helped me, I think. When I would come to after one of those, I always felt a general malaise, and it wasn't only from the abuse certain parts of my body had taken. Knowing what happened while I was under the influence of lust potions – at least this last time – gave me a sort of closure for that part of my life. Not that I wished they never used them; I'd heard horror stories about the girls before they started doing that. I understood it was probably worse most of the time, but while Nott was completely selfish, he didn't hurt me, and Blaise refused me. Either way, that part of my life was most definitely over.

At first I'd wished Stori and Tracey would hurry and write back so I could get far away from here. Potter had warned me that the owls were likely to get intercepted either on the way there or on the way back, but he didn't stop me from sending them. He didn't particularly care, it seemed, since I had no way of giving away his hideout. He never said where we were, so even if our location wasn't hidden under a Fidelius – and I had no idea if it actually was – I couldn't give it away. In any case, after this introspection that made me realize I was attempting to return to some semblance of normalcy, I realized I wanted revenge. I wanted Potter to win, even though he killed the only person who cared for me these past so many years.

He killed Blaise, but Merlin damn it all, _I wanted to help him_.

"Harry," I said over dinner, emphasizing my use of his first name. He hadn't invited me to call him that, but he hadn't seemed to care when I'd heard Blaise do it. I hoped he picked up on the subtle hint that I wanted to be friendlier with him...the whole butcher knife to the face episode notwithstanding.

He turned his full attention to me but said nothing.

The intensity of his gaze brought the memory – the horror – of that night back to my mind. I forced it away and coughed to cover it up. "I want—" I began, but trailed off and cursed myself for phrasing it that way. Demanding something in my position, especially from someone like him, was bound to be counterproductive. "Will you...teach me? I would help you, if you let me."

A slightly raised eyebrow was my only response for several moments. I held his gaze, hoping to show that I was serious. "I killed your friend," he said bluntly, in that gravelly voice of his. I thought it was starting to smooth out, though, perhaps because he'd been using it more now that he wasn't living alone and he'd gotten away from the necklace.

"He died the moment he was forced to take the Mark," I said evenly. It was true; Blaise had always been aloof to most of the world, but he had always opened up to Tracey and me. After Tracey fled and he was forced to take the Mark, though, he had closed himself off even from me. I don't know if he ever slept with me – from his words that night it seemed like something might have happened, but I don't know what. I can say I'd never seen him open up again.

Potter—Harry, rather, nodded firmly and went back to his food.

"Well," I said, but quickly continued to cover up my antagonistic tone, "will you let me help?"

"No," he said immediately.

I fought down a spike of irritation. "I might never hear back from my sister or Tracey," I said, not really trying to keep the despair out of my voice even though I knew he wouldn't care. "I might as well make myself useful."

"You cook and clean," he pointed out.

"I was studying the Auror's first aid manual—" I tried again.

"Already know it," he cut me off.

"But you can't delve yourself for head injuries—"

"In a mirror I can."

Damn it, he got me there. "You can't deny it'd be useful having a second wand in many situations."

"A second one completely on my side, yes," he said.

I clenched my jaw and suppressed a sigh. The implication was obvious: he didn't trust me, and honestly, in his position I wouldn't trust me either. Understanding the logic, however, didn't make it sting less. I cast about in my head for a way to bridge this gap, then had to hide my face for a moment while I flushed with shame that my first thought was to become his lover. That was just not going to happen. Judging by the fact that the bloody bastard had never, even once, looked at me like I was a woman, I guessed the feeling was mutual. But he was talking, and that shouldn't be wasted. I quickly searched for a topic before he clammed up for the night. "How...did it go tonight?" I suppressed the urge to slap myself for that question, but there was no taking it back now.

"Fine," he said in an odd tone.

Damn it! I knew it was a stupid question, but he didn't have to answer like I'm an idiot! "Did you kill anybody I know?"

He shrugged, not acknowledging my petulance. "I killed Death Eaters."

"How many?"

"Two."

"Only two?"

He raised an eyebrow at me. "I rarely catch as many as I did when I killed your friend. Often I don't catch any."

I pressed my lips together. I suppose I asked for that, but he was so infuriating! "Why did you kill him like you did? Why not a Killing Curse?"

He stared at me a moment, but I didn't back down. "I'm saving that...for a special occasion." I frowned, trying to make sense of that. "He died quickly," he added as softly as his voice would allow, averting his eyes.

Was that...did he just try to comfort me a little? In any other situation it would seem ridiculous, but...I hoped I had an opening. "What happens when you get hurt?" I hoped he felt the concern I poured into the question.

If he did, though, he didn't show it. "If I get hurt it means I made a mistake."

I sighed. "That's not what I meant."

"If I make a mistake," he continued, "then I deserve to get hurt."

"That sounds like Death Eater logic," I said, kind of horrified.

He shrugged. "Pain is a powerful motivator."

"There have to be better ones," I countered.

"There are, but I use every motivator I get," he said. "Hate, revenge, rage...they all stack up nicely."

"What about love?" I was really reaching now, but I knew he was close to Dumbledore, and that's the kind of question the late headmaster might have asked.

Harry, however, scoffed. "I wouldn't know about that."

I scoffed right back. "Right."

He stared hard at me a moment, then stood up and left without finishing his food, entering his bathroom.

What was that about? As if pampered little Potty wouldn't know...

Oh, bugger. My head dropped to my hands. _Damn it, Daphne, that is not the way to get him to let you help_! Once again the wisdom of the Slytherin student body shines through. If he wasn't a pampered prince like certain parties claimed...suddenly a lot of things made sense. Bloody hell, how could I have been so blind? It seemed obvious now: he lived like a pauper now because he _always_ lived like a pauper. The reasoning behind those huge Muggle clothes he wore on the train just hadn't registered before now. His school robes, I supposed, were not anything special either. But then, other than the few people that always had impeccably tailored robes and the few with obvious hand-me-downs, nobody really noticed school robes. And of course, Harry wouldn't have hand-me-downs because his parents have been dead for twenty years.

Yeah, I really screwed up. Just how badly I screwed up manifested itself in the following days, when Harry left me alone for long periods of time. He didn't act any different when he was around, of course, because he couldn't really have been colder toward me than he already had been. But I'd obviously struck a nerve, because my apologies were met with a familiar and irritating silence.

That all changed when, a few days later, he came back injured. He stumbled upon landing, I looked up from my current book – another in the series of Jigger's _Potions Opuscules_, from which I hoped to glean some more tips and tricks in case Harry ever picked up ingredients and other supplies – and raised an eyebrow at him, but he didn't even spare a glance at me. Inwardly sighing at his continued silent treatment, my eyes fell back to the book and picked up where I'd left off. Then mere seconds later, he knocked over a chair at the dining table and fell to the floor.

Like a flash I was up, immediately taking in the fact that he was dripping blood on the floor. He would have used a Scouring Charm before coming back, so I knew it had to be his. My concern intensified. "Harry!"

"I'm fine!" He growled and forced himself to his feet. The temptation to Stun him and fix him up myself quickly fled when I realized he wouldn't respond very well to that. Hell, he'd probably decapitate me before I even got the whole incantation out, even if his back was turned.

"Please, I can help," I pleaded, allowing a little desperation into my voice.

He leaned against the table a moment more before pushing off toward his bathroom. "No."

"Can I get you anything?"

"No."

"Will you at least tell me what happened?"

"No."

I sunk to the floor as he reached the bathroom. He let me have a wand, but I was still treated like a House Elf. Was that feeling of empowerment...that feeling of _usefulness_ that I didn't even realize I missed..was that just an illusion? I felt the tears coming. "Harry, please."

He stopped, hand gripping the door jamb to steady himself, and half-glanced at me with one wide, bright, Killing Curse green eye, pinning me in place. "If you have steady hands, you can help." The door slammed shut behind him.

I stared dumbly at the door for several moments, despair fading as I tried to figure out what he was asking me. The field guide to first aid I'd read talked wounds caused by dark magic; they couldn't be healed with standard Healing Charms, and dittany only prevented scarring if the counter-curse to dispel the dark magic was used first. Shit, if his wound was that bad...just then the situation struck me: he asked for my help! What did he need? Did he have alcohol to sanitize the wound? I dashed to the pantry and rifled through the supplies. No luck. I ran to my bathroom, only to find it similarly devoid of alcohol. I cursed the Dark Lord for effectively wiping out House Elves. Then the barrel marked water leapt to my mind.

Please, let it be mislabeled!

I ran back out to the pantry and wrenched the first barrel open only to find water. My heart leapt in triumph when the second barrel smelled like firewhiskey. It almost immediately died for a moment when I looked in and thought it was empty, but when I shook it, there seemed to be enough for this. I pulled it out and took into the kitchen, found a bowl, and dumped the rest in there. Not a lot of it, but it looked clean enough. I set the empty barrel aside and washed my hands thoroughly.

"Ready?" Harry's voice rasped from behind me, almost making me jump.

"I think so," I said, straightening and turning around, "are you sure—"

My heart stopped at the sight of him. He was bare from the waist up, his lean torso crisscrossed with numerous wicked scars. His left hand pressed a blood-soaked cloth into his left side and his right held a clean cloth, a small plastic box, and his wand. But for the tightness in his jaw, his face betrayed very little of the pain I imagined he felt. He tossed me the box, somehow keeping hold of the wand and clean cloth in the same hand. "Thread a needle."

"What?" I breathed, hoping I misheard.

I didn't. "Thread a needle," he repeated slowly, as if I were a child. "Quickly."

He started to reach over to snatch the box back, but I quickly turned and opened the box. One of the spools of thread had a needle poked through it. "This one's already threaded," I said.

"That'll work," he said, then he walked over to the rug in front of the fireplace and laid down. "Come here, I'll get it started."

I followed, carrying the bowl of alcohol and the impromptu suturing kit. "Wait, shouldn't we clean it out first?" I gestured to the bowl. "I found that firewhiskey."

He grunted and eyed the alcohol askance. "I'll just use _tergeo_."

"It won't stop infection," I countered.

"I know," he said.

"Well, you can't go letting your guard down around me by getting sick with infection, can you?"

He only glared at me for a moment from his position on the floor before he pulled out a brown, plastic bottle out of his pants pocket. "You should use this, instead. Muggles don't use alcohol anymore."

I snatched the bottle out of his hand and glared at him right back for making me feel stupid. Of course he would have something better. But then he lifted the bloodied cloth, at which time I almost vomited at the yellowing, pus-filled gash as long as my hand. He stuffed the clean cloth in his mouth, and I poured the liquid from the brown bottle labeled Hydrogen Peroxide into the gash. Harry hissed in pain, and kept hissing as the liquid washed away the pus, bubbled and hissed, and seemed to bleach the skin around the wound white. He lifted his wand and hissed again, and suddenly I realized he was speaking in Parseltongue. He knocked his head on the floor in frustration, then tried again. "_Aguamenti_. _Tergeo_."

The wound still looked awful, but it appeared to be clean, and no blood was coming out. I wondered if just bandaging it now would work. "Are you sure we have to do this?"

"See these?" He pointed to some of his most worst scars, the ones that had thick, ropy scar tissue piled up on top. "And it'll take three times as long to heal."

"Oh," I said, feeling indescribably sorry for Harry that nobody was here to patch those up for him. Or, more appropriately, I supposed, sorry that he received them in the first place.

He took the needle and waved his wand over it, making it much sharper, shorter, and a bit thinner, then he switched his wand to his left hand and the needle to his right. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at the fact that he wouldn't drop his wand, but a moment later, without hesitation, he pinched the skin around the wound and jabbed the needle through. Pulling it through the other side, he stopped pinching, and I realized he was making sure the impromptu stitches were not too tight. I also realized, glancing at the rest of his exposed skin, that he must have done this before. I involuntarily winced at what that must have been like for those scars over his ribs.

He started the second and third loop, but the angle was growing difficult for him to reach without straining the thread. Then he held it out to me. "See? Go diagonal." His voice was strained, but he seemed less affected than I felt.

I took the needle and tried in vain to stop my hand from shaking. I knew this wasn't the way that the first aid manual said Muggles do it, but Harry had obviously done this before and that worked out fine. Then I eyed his other scars. Well, for the most part it worked out fine.

He sighed impatiently. "Give it here, I can—"

The disappointment in his voice hurt me more than it should have. "No! I just need to get past the first one, and I'll be fine." I forced my left hand to touch his skin, and he twitched at the contact. He felt like he was on fire, so I imagine my fingers felt freezing to him. Without thinking about it too much, I placed the needle against his skin, aiming for the same distance from the gash and the same angle he'd used. The thought of his skin tearing open from the stitches being too shallow made me squeamish. But Harry was staring at me, with his wand not so subtly aiming at my head. Forcing myself to avoid thinking about that, I focused on the task at hand.

"Okay, I'm at the end," I told him once I'd gotten there, then let out a sigh of relief. "Now what?"

"Add an extra loop or two where you can, then go back up, diagonals in the other direction." He received a glare for that statement, and I may have jabbed him a little too deep on the extra loop. He needed a solid anchor on the far side of his wound, after all.

"Wait," I said, freezing halfway back. "We didn't sterilize the needle."

He stared at me a moment, then he snorted. Was that actual amusement? It seemed a strange reaction to my second accidental attempt to kill him.

* * *

For a full week and a half after that, Harry stayed in the house to care for the wound, changing the dressing each day before I even awoke. Thankfully he didn't get an infection; I don't think I would have dealt with that very well. He didn't thank me for helping him, but he started warming up to me again, like he'd started to do before I had basically called him a pampered prince. 'Warm' being a relative term, that is; he glared at me a lot less and started relaxing more around me, but that was the extent of it. He still wouldn't let me go get groceries by myself, so we were stretching the good stuff as much as possible. I was continually surprised at how little he could eat and still not complain. More often than not I had to make him eat more. Not by outright telling him so, though – he'd just refuse out of principle – but he wordlessly accepted and ate more if I gave it to him.

Another thing that surprised me was how often he'd just sit with his eyes closed. He wasn't sleeping, I knew, because he opened them every time I moved more than just turning a page. If it got too quiet, I thought I could hear him whispering even though I couldn't see his mouth moving. That made me quite uncomfortable more than once, because it reminded me of how he acted with the necklace. He never once picked up one of the books, so I assumed he had read them all. Surprisingly he never complained about being bored, or his side hurting, or anything else, really. It was completely unnatural.

"Harry," I said at one point when I'd had enough of the imagined whispering.

He opened his eyes at me.

"Will you teach me something?" I tried my level best not to wither under his expressionless stare.

"What?" He finally asked.

"I don't know," I said, annoyed, "something useful."

"Very well," he said, then closed his eyes.

I waited for several long moments, but he gave no indication that he was going to continue. I was unamused, but I kept it out of my voice. "Well?"

"Patience," is all he said, still without opening his eyes.

What? I looked around, trying to figure out what he meant. When my eyes drifted over the clock I saw it was just after three in the afternoon, could he be waiting for a specific time? But what time would that be? Did he want something to eat, first? Stumped, I gave up. "What are we waiting for?"

"For you to learn patience," he replied, eyes still closed.

My mouth dropped open in shock. Did he—did he just—? I felt it coming, and I couldn't stop it – I burst out laughing. Did he seriously just make a joke? The absurdity of it all, the continually outrageous situations in which I found myself just kept fueling the laughter. I sounded slightly insane, I imagined, but that thought just made me laugh harder.

Harry just let it happen. After it had finally died down to irregular spurts in between attempts to wipe off tears, he spoke with one eyebrow raised. "Are you okay? For a moment there you sounded like—"

His tone of voice and the fact that he trailed off quickly drained off the rest of my temporary insanity. "What? Sounded like who?"

"Nobody," he said, closing his eyes again.

"Harry," I warned, knowing it was futile.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," he said, opening his eyes and surprising me. Once again my mouth dropped open in shock, only this time I felt an explosion of anger coming. "She's dead now," he added.

That smothered the explosion in surprise. "You...you killed Bellatrix Lestrange?"

He nodded. "But not before she gave me this," he said, holding his hand over the wound we'd patched.

Circe's tits! "She was Dark Lord's most trusted lieutenant, and just as frightening as Voldemort himself! In her own way, anyway." I added the last with a shudder, then let out a long breath and sank back onto the chair. "That's amazing, Harry," I said honestly, "really, it is."

"He's not happy," Harry said, seemingly unaffected by my praise. "Especially at losing his Bella. He's been killing a lot more Muggles in retaliation."

I twitched at the way Harry said 'his Bella,' and when he mentioned the Dark Lord's retaliation. Yeah, Muggles aren't really that important, but I didn't think our Ministry could keep the International Confederation of Wizards from stepping in if Voldemort pushed too far.

Wait, where did that thought come from?

I realized that I hadn't really thought of such things for some time...years, even. What was even happening in the greater wizarding world these days? Harry didn't get a paper, I'd noticed; in fact, he didn't receive any owls at all. The thought that the Dark Lord could be building influence internationally chilled me to the bone. What if Stori wasn't safe?

"What are you going to do?" I asked the question in an attempt to distract myself.

"I'm going to kill him," Harry said emotionlessly.

His matter-of-fact declaration, as I'd expect if he said he was going to the grocery store or just discussing the weather, left me struggling for words. I wanted to ask what he was thinking, if he was crazy, and several other questions that probably would make him stop talking. I settled for, "when?"

"As soon as I'm healed," he said, patting his chest. "No sense giving him an advantage he hasn't earned."

"But what if..." I trailed off, not wanting to give away my concern over my sister. "What are you going to do in the meantime? How can I help?"

In response he very deliberately closed his eyes, and my head dropped into my hands in frustration. It wouldn't be the last time I was tempted to make a third 'accidental' attempt to kill Harry Potter.

* * *

A/N:

For those of you interested in the writing process, I actually started writing this with the idea that they would cauterize the wound with a hot fireplace poker or something. Turns out that's really, _really_ not a good idea. Stitching like they did isn't a good idea, either (suturing kits are not expensive and do a much better job, but it takes lots of practice to do it right and Harry almost certainly couldn't do it on himself), but I'm pretty sure it's better than doing nothing. And definitely better than burning himself.

Also, Harry was telling the truth: alcohol (especially firewhiskey from an old barrel) is quite a poor disinfectant compared to hydrogen peroxide, but the latter is no longer recommended for use on treating wounds, as it damages the skin cells and may extend healing time. Nowadays a simple saline solution is recommended to irrigate wounds before attempting to close them. I _think_ this is a relatively recent development, but since the wizarding world is so far behind I figured I was safe with keeping the peroxide in there.

Either way, I'm not in the medical field at all (my research consisted of about an hour of Googling) so if you are, just kinda squint your eyes at that bit and pretend I didn't write something stupid. And don't try this stuff at home, people!

Review!


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: JK Rowling and I stitched up a deal on ownership rights of Harry Potter, which will take affect approximately seventy years after her death. Now, who knows how to make a Philosopher's Stone?

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**Peter Pettigrew**

I stared at the carefully arranged blood spatters still dripping down the dirt-caked, rust-brown brick wall outside of Borgin & Burke's in horror.

Harry Potter had left a message, and since I was the only one who fled, I was the only one left to take it to the Dark Lord. Dare I risk leaving this out of my report? No, as soon as I tell him the others are dead, he'll pull this out of my mind anyway. I quailed in apprehension at the thought of returning – I knew the Cruciatus was coming again, but it would be so much worse if I didn't hurry. I quickly waved my wand to vanish the blood.

It didn't work. "_Evanesco_!" I tried again to no avail. Crying out in desperation, I tried again and again, my panic growing with each incantation. "_Scourgify_! _Tergeo_! _Aguamenti_! _Please_!" Oh Merlin, he's going to kill me! I didn't want to go back, but I knew my punishment would just get worse and worse. With any luck, he'll come to dispel the blood himself and forget about me. Yes, please let it be so!

Clinging to that hope, with a trembling hand I pulled out my portkey and activated it once again. After feeling a familiar tug behind my navel and tumbling wildly through some sort of compressed space – I never understood Remus' explanation – I found myself sprawled on the dark, marble floor of a familiar and terrifying chamber. Heavy, dark green velvet curtains drooped slightly from their ties near the ceiling, and not for the first time I wished they reached the floor so I could hide behind them. But as always they only added color to the otherwise gray ceiling and walls – bland despite the carved, patterned half pillars littered with text I vaguely recognized as Runic in origin. Two heavy wooden doors, also intricately carved with runes, stood on opposite sides of the room. The one behind me was my only escape; the other, which supposedly led to a bedroom, held only a warning of death – a promise that I had no doubt would be carried out without hesitation. The only furniture in the room rested upon a raised marble dais: an ornate, silvery throne with an enormous snake wrapped around the legs, upon which sat the most powerful wizard who ever lived.

"Wormtail." The Dark Lord spoke slowly and softly, yet the voice terrified me as much as his mere presence. Being in the oppressive presence of the Dark Lord felt like having every shadow in the room attempting to squeeze the life out of me.

"My Lord," I began, unable to keep the trembling out of my voice, "the others are dead—" I didn't get to finish, because in that instant every nerve in my body exploded in fiery pain. No thoughts could penetrate it, only the instinctive desire to try and escape the pain, even though no movements helped. It was over an eternity later, at which point I became aware of my screaming and the puddle of urine beneath me. "I-I'm s-sorry, M-master," I forced out through the tremors that came from more than just fear this time. It's not really possible to get used to the debilitating aftershocks, but Death Eaters learn to answer the Dark Lord as soon as possible when he asks a question.

I wasn't really sorry about leaving the others to die, but I was sorry about a great many other things...things which I quickly push out of my mind in case the Dark Lord reads it. Luckily, the ambiguity of my apology is enough that my half-truth won't be detected. If that weren't the case, I would have been dead a long time ago.

Of course, the message I saw might spell my demise anyway. I wiped the spittle from my chin, then licked my lips to wet them again. "M-my lord, th-there's more."

The Dark Lord's glowing red eyes snapped up to glare at me. "Speak, Wormtail! You try my patience!"

"There was...a message, my lord. A message to you, left in blood. I-I tried to dispel it, but—"

"And what message did the boy leave?" He leaned forward interestedly and I winced internally.

Okay, it was probably external, too. Another dose of Cruciatus was a certainty if I read the message aloud. But perhaps he would go see it himself... "M-my lord, if you would accompany me to—"

White hot knives of pain plunged into my body over and over again. Some hours or seconds later, I found myself screaming my throat raw. Then I found myself reliving my trip back to Nocturne Alley, outside of Borgin and Burkes, gaping at the challenge Potter had left and then trying frantically to dispel it. I felt a stab of pain in my head before the Dark Lord returned my thoughts to me.

After that, luckily, his ire was directed elsewhere. He hissed at the snake, his face a rigid mask of barely contained rage. "Coward? _COWARD_? Come, Wormtail, we must teach this boy the meaning of cowardice!"

Before I could so much as think of a reply, he seized my robes and Disapparated. After the sensation of being squeezed through a straw I was once again dumped unceremoniously out of the traveling dimension, this time onto the dirt-caked flagstones of Nocturne Alley. We appeared with a loud crack, sending a decrepit old hag who had appeared to gawk at the message crashing into a wall.

I didn't even stand up before the Dark Lord roared in anger at the words painted in blood. He jabbed his wand at the hag, who exploded into a bloody mist, spattering my face with stinking, acidic, dark red blood. As I furiously rubbed at my face to get rid of the gore, he waved his wand again and, after a moment, the blood on the walls shimmered and faded from view. In some small part of my brain buried under heaps of fear, I thought it quite ironic that Potter was the one who vandalized the wall with blood, and the Dark Lord was the one to clean it up.

Then, just as swiftly, he grabbed my arm and Disapparated once again. This time we appeared in an ash- and debris-littered alley within the ruins of Hogsmeade. I hated this sight. Sure, I'd helped reduce my temporary home in Ottery St. Catchpole to a similarly burnt husk of its former self, after Augustus Rookwood Polyjuiced into Arthur Weasley and killed the man's family. And yes, I had a hand in the destruction of several storefronts in Diagon Alley that I'd always enjoyed browsing...but the utter, widespread destruction here from our siege of Hogwarts just felt different. Voldemort had always spoke of improving the wizarding world, but Hogsmeade was always one of my favorite places in it. I suppressed a shiver at the thought that the two most frightening people he'd ever known were going to meet here, and the realization that I had no way of escape.

"Do you fear the boy, Wormtail?" The challenge in his voice made me cower. That he was waving his wand in deliberate movements without incantation certainly didn't help.

"N-not while you're here, master," I lied. He never seemed to catch lies as long as they glorified him in some way. Well, either that or he simply didn't care to punish us for it as long as we worshipped him. Either way, I'd be an idiot not to take advantage of that.

His eyes narrowed, and I feared he was going to choose this, of all times, to kill me for lying. "Hold out your arm."

I let out a breath of relief; even though this was going to hurt, more people meant more confusion. Of course, thanks to Potter's efforts, there were not that many Marked Death Eaters anymore; with the death of the last two Lestranges, the Dark Lord's entire Inner Circle was gone. Still, the thirty or so left Marked would serve to provide me more opportunities to escape, should it come to that.

His smile held no happiness as he jabbed his wand at my Dark Mark. The pain made me flinch slightly, but compared to the Cruciatus, this was nothing. "Fear not, for our final victory is at hand," he said triumphantly. He closed his eyes. "The boy is here. His eyes are closed, as always, but the boy is here, ready to beg for death."

His eyes are closed...as always? But how did the Dark Lord know that, and what did that mean? Icy fear gripped my heart even tighter. As it was I had to fight every urge to avoid transforming and running away to hide, but now, with confirmation of Potter's presence...

"Come, Wormtail, we mustn't keep him waiting."

He strode away toward the main thoroughfare, and after a few moments – with the understanding that I'd likely be tortured if I stayed rooted to the spot – I managed to follow.

"Hello, Tom," Potter's voice said, surprisingly clear and steady. He sat cross-legged on the ground, eyes closed with his wand laid across his lap. "I see you received my message."

I felt a spike of fear as the Dark Lord radiated fury at the insult, but to my surprise, he didn't act on it. "Hello, Harry," he replied instead after a moment, voice silky smooth and deadly. "Have you finally come to die?"

"You forget the prophecy," Potter countered, voice still unwavering, eyes still closed. "Neither can live while the other survives. How can I die when I haven't yet lived?"

The Dark Lord smiled cruelly, letting out a hiss as he did so. "How...poetic."

"I thought you might enjoy that," Potter said, smirking as if he wasn't worried at all. Then it struck me: he actually wasn't.

The Dark Lord's face tightened in fury, but still he kept his temper in check. Then he smiled again. "But forgive me, where are my manners? Perhaps you recall my servant, Peter Pettigrew?" If I'd had the ability to move, and he wouldn't kill me for trying, I would have attempted to duck behind the Dark Lord.

Potter's face twitched at that and I jumped, but thankfully he didn't move to curse me like I had expected.

The Dark Lord caught the twitch, though, and tried to needle him further. "Yes, you might recall being too weak to do what you should have done when you captured him, and paying the price ever since?" I could help but cringe in horror at the way the Dark Lord offered me as bait. I knew he only cared about how useful I was, but I also knew he was the only chance I had to live. "And now, all those you once cared for are dead. The impoverished blood traitors, the filthy mudblood – you remember her screams, don't you, Harry? The way she begged for you to forgive her for abandoning you? The way she insisted, as she lay there broken and dying, that you would save her? It was most amusing, I must say." His serpentine voice caressed the taunts obscenely.

In response, Potter stood and brushed off his tattered robes and lifted his face. I almost sighed in relief when his eyes were still closed. After all, if they were closed, they weren't glowing. "I suppose you accept my challenge, then."

"Ah yes, your challenge to a duel...how very amusing," the Dark Lord said mockingly. I thought very privately that he didn't seem so amused ten minutes ago. "I have brought my second. Where is the girl?" Potter didn't respond, which was met with high, cruel laughter. "Ah, you cannot trust her, yes? What a shame. Fear not, I will deal with her soon enough."

Potter tilted his head as if listening to something. Then he smirked. "It seems like you needed more than just a second, Tom. Some of your followers have arrived back there." He jerked his head toward the alley in which we'd appeared.

The Dark Lord laughed. "You didn't think I'd kill you without an audience, did you? Oh, but have no fear, they will only bear witness to your death."

Potter smirked back, then nodded. Why the hell was he so confident? "Very well. I'm afraid it's been some time since we last dueled – I believe that was when I killed Nagini, right? Anyway, you'll have to remind me of the proceedings. I believe you usually use the Cruciatus on me while I'm unarmed to weaken me first, right? Wouldn't want to face me at full strength, would you, Tom?"

The already palpable tension rolling off the Dark Lord finally snapped. "_CRUCIO_!"

Instinctively I fell to the ground as though it was aimed at me. A moment later, still curled up in the fetal position, I thought it odd that there were no screams. I looked over to Potter, but he merely stood there, still with a smirk on his face. It took me a moment to note that his eyes were open, but I felt none of the fear...

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," a voice next to me taunted slowly. I turned my head and my jaw dropped. "So predictable." An Invisibility Cloak fell to the ground around a second Harry Potter's feet. He stood astride a sleek, cherry-colored broom. His eyes glowed, his voice rasped, his presence exuded the very same terror of the Dark Lord. And he held two wands; one being the wand once held by Albus Dumbledore and, moments earlier, the Dark Lord. "Your final insult was bringing the rat. Mine is this kitchen knife." The Dark Lord – no, the man I'd sold myself to all those years ago – fell to his knees with a knife jutting out from the back of his neck. He didn't make so much as a gurgle. Potter raised his voice. "Behold, your so-called Dark Lord, brought low once by an infant, and now again by a Muggle knife." He looked back down upon the fallen man and spoke with as much disdain as Lucius Malfoy or James Potter could have mustered at their best. "Begone, wraith! None of these men here will revive you ever again." Potter raised both wands, then leaned in to speak quietly. "I've been saving something for you, Tom. _Avada Kedavra_!"

The thick green flash of light arced out from his wand, point blank, and enveloped the Dark Lord's body in a sizzling display of dark power that rivaled anything I'd ever witnessed, save the resurrection ritual. He slumped almost immediately, but Potter levitated the body, and without a word the Dark Lord's head exploded. It never touched the boy – no, the man – who looked so much like James yet inspired only terror instead of jealousy. Bits of bone and blood shot back in the other direction, and my head turned just in time to see the group of less than thirty Death Eaters receive a shower of gore. I bent over and vomited every bit of food in my body, and I heard others do the same.

By the time I'd recovered, Potter had let the rest of the body drop to the ground, and an inky black mist rose from it. Before it had fully emerged, it started...screaming, for lack of a better word. It wasn't audible, I don't think, but the ethereal, phantom screech vibrated and shook my entire being. It stretched—no, it was _dragged_ toward Potter, who walked right up to meet it. Another Blasting Curse filtered right through the mist and the Dark Lord's torso exploded in much the same way as his head. That appeared to jar the rest of the black mist loose, and it shot toward Potter, striking him square in the face. He staggered a moment, but then breathed deeply until the black mist was entirely absorbed.

Then he turned at looked right at me.

I couldn't move. I couldn't think. The square was completely quiet; not even the late summer wind stirred the leaves in the forest surrounding us. Potter had destroyed the Dark Lord without even trying! I watched transfixed, hardly noticing the Dark Lord's former body crumble into dust. What was that mist, and more importantly, how the bloody hell was I going to get away from here? The urge to transform and hide was stronger than ever, but Potter would be expecting that. Before I could think of a different plan to escape, Potter turned away from me walked slowly toward the other group, leaving both his Cloak and the broom just a few feet away. When I was sure he couldn't see me out of the corner of his eye, I began sidling over to the broom.

"Not another step, rat," Potter's voice came from behind me. I froze, cursing myself for forgetting the other Potter. It must be the girl using Polyjuice, I assumed now. I wondered if perhaps I could... "Petrificus Totalus," the voice said, as if reading my thoughts. My arms and legs snapped together, and I started to fall backward. I struggled to break my fall, but it was no use; I mentally prepared myself to hit the ground, but to my surprise I was held upright. "Oh, you won't want to miss this. Besides, Harry's got something extra special planned for you."

I wanted to beg the girl in Potter's body for my life, but with my jaw held firmly shut, I couldn't get out more than a squeak.

The real, black mist-infused Potter still walked toward the Death Eaters, who backed away uncertainly. "Hold!" Potter's voice held the unmistakable air of command, and I wasn't the only one who noticed. "You saw my soul enter the boy's body. Did you think Lord Voldemort would die from the mere destruction of my body? I am immortal!" Then he laughed, a high, cruel laugh that I'd only heard from one man.

If my jaw wasn't frozen, it would have dropped. Several Death Eaters dropped to their knees, and the others quickly followed.

"This is my body for now, unfortunately," Potter continued, switching his moods as quickly as the Dark Lord had. "But I require a new wand, for neither his nor mine are responding very well to me." He stared at the group, who still hadn't moved or spoken. "I _said_, I require a new wand!"

Over two dozen wands were quickly proffered to the newly formed Dark Lord...which meant a few Death Eaters were not quick enough. One died instantly in much the same condition as the previous Dark Lord's body, and two other slow ones who had the misfortune of being next to each other bled out in a matter of seconds from being nearly sliced in half.

"I had to ask twice," Potter said slowly, and I could almost feel the glare from across the square. "I trust I won't have to do that again."

The hissing in his voice was unmistakable...it had to be the Dark Lord in control! What was the girl doing? Couldn't she see? Didn't she understand that she was going to die...that _we_ were going to die if she didn't get us out of here? I fought against my invisible restraints even harder, but it was like trying to push through solid stone. I watched as Potter Summoned each of the wands without even giving them a second glance, let alone a wave to test them out.

"Now," he said slowly, walking to the rear of the still prostrate group, "this is my final order to you...die." I watched in horror as massive Cutting Curses ravaged the group, severing heads and limbs without even slowing down. Several of them finally realized what was happening and tried to run, but Potter picked them off first in a massacre just as brutal, just as gruesome as any I'd ever witnessed at the hand of the Dark Lord. Some small piece of me thought that hopefully some of those with the Mark didn't answer the summons, but then I realized it didn't matter. This was not the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord was dead, and within a matter of seconds, every single Marked Death Eater joined him.

Except me.

The blood-soaked form of Harry Potter approached me, every bit the Dark Lord's equal when it came to intimidation. I couldn't hide my face from the terrible, Killing Curse green eyes that pierced my very soul, taunting me with all my failures and weaknesses. I should be angry, but I can't muster anything aside from pure, unadulterated fear.

"Release the rat," Potter said when he reached me.

The girl behind me must have complied, because I immediately fell to the ground with a cry of surprise. I felt like retching; even though I'd seen and heard worse, I'd never had so little hope of survival. I shook so badly that I couldn't get up. All I wanted to do was escape, but I couldn't form anything resembling a feasible plan to do so.

"Surprised, rat?" The scorn in his voice made me flinch. "You thought your pathetic half-blood master was in control, didn't you?"

I nodded quickly, a whimper escaping me as I cast about for a way out of it. He was too powerful to escape now, even if I transformed, but he once released me when I begged. I didn't have much hope, but I thought that was still my best shot. "Harry..."

All of the air in my lungs forcibly left my body when he buried his foot in my stomach. "You don't get to call me that."

Doubled over, I dry-heaved and gasped desperately for air. "Please..." I managed to get out.

"You betrayed my parents," he said acidly.

"I didn't want to! I never wanted to—"

Potter cut me off with a laugh. "Do you know what that mist was, rat? It was Tom's soul. He can see everything you do and hear everything we say...at least, he could if he was not screaming."

The blood drained from my face.

He laughed cruelly once again. "Yes, you don't know who to simper and grovel to, do you? Well, I have a gift for you that might help you choose."

To my horror, he opened his mouth and the same black mist started seeping out from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, and I felt the same echo of a scream. The black mist shot toward me, snapping my head back and wracking my entire body and soul with a burning pain. I thought I was screaming, but I couldn't tell if that was me or the Dark Lord's soul, or both.

"You know what will hurt more than a Killing Curse, Tom?" Potter's voice cut through my pain, like he was speaking directly into my head.

I felt the Dark Lord's presence, but something was terribly wrong with it. He felt weak, frightened. I could feel him trying to make me move, but it felt like no more than an itch, and my body wouldn't respond anyway.

It didn't help that Potter's vicious smirk and burning green eyes were aimed right at me. "Two Killing Curses. _Avada Kedavra_!"

I saw a flash of green, heard a horrible scream, and the Dark Lord's presence was blasted from my mind. Then, just as quickly, all the pain disappeared.

* * *

A/N:

Since this story follows canon up through part of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_, Harry knew what it was like to be possessed by Voldemort. So let's just say he hypothesized what might happen, and it...uh, "worked out."

I would explain more, but there's an epilogue coming that might answer (and raise) some of the questions you might have, so I'll address them in the final A/N.

Also, this story already has more hits and favs than Harry Silvertongue, which is pretty cool.

Review!


	5. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Compared to what JK Rowling's legal team would do, the Killing Curse would be a kindness to any fanfiction writer foolish enough to claim Harry Potter as their own.

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**Epilogue**

**Astoria Greengrass**

I looked to the west and closed my eyes, enjoying the cool breeze while I could before it blew in the storm clouds on the horizon. I was a bit disappointed that Daphne wouldn't get to experience the beautiful Greek sunset on her first evening here; especially from the Parthenon. The cool, early autumn air hung more thickly with magic here than even at Hogwarts, and it seemed to enhance the beauty of the entire city below.

In truth, I was nervous about her arrival. Her and Philip's supposed betrayal still stung, though time and my infinitely better relationship with Lysander had all but buried the pain. And now, after exchanging a few letters in which she explained her subterfuge and her life, she was coming here to meet me. I'd called her many names, a whore among them, when we'd last spoken. Suddenly finding out she was forced into that position against her will before she escaped and became my savior again was like another knife in my heart, except I'd plunged it in myself.

"Are you sure you'll be okay, love?" The concern in Lysander's eyes warmed me.

"Of course, it's my sister," I replied.

I could see he didn't really believe me, but I couldn't really blame him. He had only known of her from the less-than-savory description I gave him. I smiled at him in another attempt to reassure him, and he put his arm around me. I put my head against his chest and enjoyed our closeness for a moment. Then I opened my eyes, which immediately picked out an uncomfortable-looking man with dark hair, a dark beard, and piercing green eyes, the latter of which were only barely hidden behind rounded glasses. He looked familiar...

"Stori?" My sister's voice jarred me out of my thoughts, and I jumped out of Lysander's embrace to face her. She was thinner than I remember, which was no mean feat. I had always hated that she stayed so skinny no matter what she ate, but now, with the thin robes draped loosely over her tall, slight frame, it looked like she could stand to gain a few pounds. Still with her jet black hair and ice blue eyes, she was beautiful as ever.

All of my anxiety melted away. "Daph!" I threw myself into her arms, nearly knocking her over.

"Stori," she whispered. "I've been so worried about you."

"Me?" I pulled back to look at her incredulously. "With all those awful things I'd heard about home..." Her eyes fell at that, and my heart dropped. "Daph, what ha—"

"Another time, Stori," she cut me off. "This isn't the place for that."

Her voice, I only now realized, carried none of the warmth she usually saved for me and our parents. It was the same voice she had used at Hogwarts: that emotionless, dry tone that she and Blaise had perfected by the time I'd gotten there. "I'm so sorry, Daph," was all I could say. I felt tears threatening to leak out.

"Well, introduce me, already," she said quickly. I was grateful for the subject change.

"Oh! Daphne, this is my boyfriend, Lysander. Lysander, my sister Daphne." They shook hands, both faking smiles for the other. It made me frown slightly, but there would be time enough for changing minds later. "Didn't you say you were bringing somebody along?"

"Yeah," she said, glancing over her left shoulder. "He won't come over here, though."

"What? Why not?"

She shook her head. "It was all I could do to get him to accompany me this far."

My eyebrows jumped at that. Hadn't she said the guy had helped her? "Well, who is he?" I grinned at her. "Is he your boyfriend?"

She grimaced in reply. "No." She glanced over her shoulder once more, and I realized she must be looking at him. I tried to follow her gaze, but there were too many people. She turned back and her eyes flickered to Lysander. "Can we talk in private?"

I frowned for a moment, then glanced at my boyfriend, giving him a reassuring nod. "We'll be right back." I led her around one of the pillars, where she quickly put up a Privacy Charm. "Okay, why all the secrecy?"

"Harry Potter," she said without preamble.

I cocked my head back, not understanding. "What?"

"Harry Potter was the one who helped me," she said. "He's here with me now."

Suddenly the image of the green-eyed man leapt to my mind and I gasped. "I saw him," I blurted out as my mind raced through the possibilities. "But...Harry Potter?"

"He saved me," she said simply.

My mind reeled a bit, trying to make sense of everything. "But I thought he was dead!"

She shook her head. "No, he was...alone, all that time." Her eyes were directed toward me, but they were unfocused, far away. "When he rescued me, his voice barely even worked."

I looked at her askance. "Are you sure you and he aren't—?"

She shook her head again. "He's never even looked at me like that. He's...broken, Stori. Even more than I am."

I felt like she punched me in the gut. "Even more...? Daph, you're scaring me."

She grimaced again. "You don't even know the half of it. I watched him execute the Dark Lord." I gasped. She hadn't mentioned that in her letters! "We tricked him, then Harry killed him. It wasn't even a fight. And then he executed thirty Death Eaters – the only Marked ones that were left – right in front of me."

The weight of that news pressed down on me like a boulder. I couldn't breathe, and I felt tears start to leak out. I'd looked into those eyes, and I could picture the haunted look in them more clearly now. I couldn't speak at all.

"It was the most horrifying thing I'd ever seen, and that's still not all. Did you ever read about the Order of the Phoenix back home?" I nodded numbly. "They were all killed several years ago. It was all Harry. In all he's killed two hundred and fifty Death Eaters and sympathizers, as he calls them...and that includes many of our former classmates."

I staggered as if struck, and fell to the floor with my back against the pillar. Suddenly one of my unanswered questions leapt to mind. "Blaise?"

She looked down. "Him, too. Right in front of me. Harry let him say goodbye, then cried when he did it."

I blew out an incredulous breath. "H-how could you even stay with him?"

She looked up with tears in her eyes, which took me aback. She never cried! "They forced Blaise to take the Mark, Stori, and the Dark Lord had some kind of power over it. Harry never said what it was, but Blaise was never the same after that. He did what he could, but...he...it was Harry that saved me."

I rubbed the sides of my head with shaking arms. What horrors had I put my sister through? How did I not know how bad it was? "I'm so sorry, Daph. I'm so sorry...if I had known..."

"No," she said vehemently, slashing her hand through the air. "You could not have done anything. Your staying would have only meant both of us would suffer."

I recoiled at her words, but I couldn't refute them. If she and Blaise couldn't get away, what could I have done? I felt so helpless. I hugged my arms around me, but still shivered at the horror of it all. I needed Lysander. That thought made me feel even worse, because Daphne had gone all this time without that comfort. I forced myself to stand, then pulled her into a hug. She went rigid at first, but I only hugged tighter. She started trembling, and I couldn't stop the sob that wracked my body. Soon we were both on the floor against the pillar, crying into each others' shoulders.

I don't know how long we stayed like that, but at some point I looked up to find Lysander standing a respectful distance away. He gestured to me as if he wanted to come over, but I shook my head. I didn't think I could keep all these secrets from him, but I needed time to talk to Daph to figure out which ones were safe to share. Sensing the shift in my mood, she wiped her face and leaned back, once again wearing her impeccable mask of detachment. Idly I considered smacking her for looking like that when I knew my face would be all splotchy.

I took a deep breath, hoping to restore some measure of dignity to my face. "Well, you're here now," I said, rubbing her shoulder. "We can take care of you, so you don't have to worry about that stuff anymore."

To my surprise and dismay, she looked away and shook her head. "I'm going back with him," she said.

"What? Why?"

"Harry...he would never admit it, but he needs me," she said. "When I said we tricked the Dark Lord, I really meant 'we.' It was my plan, and he didn't want to go on with it at first because I was the bait." I gasped again, but she quickly shook her head. "It was fine. I didn't feel scared at all, even when the Dark Lord stood a dozen paces away. When I'm with Harry, I feel...less broken. I feel safe."

"So stay here with him," I countered quickly. It tore at my heart hearing my sister talk about being broken. "We can...we can take care of you both," I faltered at the thought of keeping Harry Potter around, especially after what she told me about him, but I forced the offer out. Despite that I meant it; I didn't want her to have to leave, and if she grounded him as much as she said...

"It's not over," she said, her voice returning to its usual strength. "The Dark Lord's soul is loose again, though by the time Harry got through with it, it felt incredibly weak. He couldn't be completely killed yet, but I doubt he could possess a pixie at this point." I couldn't believe she could be so nonchalant about that. She'd been through so much... "And that's not to mention all of the un-Marked followers and other sympathizers that infest the Ministry. Harry's going to work on the first one, and I'm going to work on the second."

"Haven't you both done enough?" I couldn't believe she was going to go back, despite what she said about Potter. "And what about Mum and Dad, can't they help?"

Her face turned grim. "They did nothing apart from sending you away, Stori," she said, then looked at me with ice in her eyes – the same sort of piercing stare I'd seen from Potter. It had faltered when we started talking, but now I could see it in her eyes, nearly aglow: her staggering, indomitable resolve. It left me in awe of my sister for the first time in many years. "I will have answers from them."

* * *

The End.

* * *

A/N:

So there you have it! I'm not really sure what this narrative technique is called (or if it even has a name), but in epic fantasy, some of the best glimpses of the main characters are often the ones from alternative points of view. I took that to its (absurd) logical extreme in this story: this might be a story about Harry, but we never actually experience it from his point of view. In some ways I think it's powerful because his actions are undiluted by his usual modesty, and his apparent madness in Chapter 1 is all the more terrifying. But I admit it adds some confusion and several reviewers said they didn't like it.

When I completed this story, I said that I might expand it if people like it, but I'm not sure that I could do it justice. It might be interesting to show Harry's descent into darkness, but if I added a chapter after the prologue but before Blaise's chapter, it would weaken the effect of Harry's entrance. It might also be interesting to further develop the Harry/Daphne relationship (such as it is) with an extra chapter before Pettigrew's, but it might take more skill than I have to do it believably. As it stands I don't think it's much of a stretch to go from Harry allowing Daphne to help stitch him up to allowing her to help set up Voldemort.

But a lot of people are unhappy with the length. I think part of that stems from my lack of experience when it comes to writing stories of this length. As I told one reviewer, it kind of reads like I cherry-picked a few chapters from a novel, smushed them together, and called it done. The scale of the plot perhaps belongs in a longer story, and a better writer might explore the societal effects of Harry massacring so many people (how he should be punished, how he might react, etc.), or perhaps provide some sort of foil for his behavior since I killed off his best friends.

Lastly, I should mention that I am not planning to write a sequel.

Now for the questions: you might wonder how Harry and Daphne did their plotting when Voldemort apparently had a direct link into Harry's brain. Well, it's subtle and it might not be a very good explanation, but I hope it's there in the story.

There are two important things to note: first, Harry and Voldemort don't have an 'always on' connection, and second, Harry knows when Voldemort is watching. Harry hints at the second in Blaise's chapter, saying that Voldemort is "watching now" **–** implying he wasn't watching before. Voldemort then hints at the first in Peter's chapter: "[Voldemort] closed his eyes. 'The boy is here. His eyes are closed, as always, but the boy is here, ready to beg for death.'" I was implying that Voldemort has to close his eyes and focus in order to see through Harry's eyes. So Harry taught Daphne patience, and then, when the coast was clear sometime between chapters two and three, they plotted the final confrontation.

Also, back in the first chapter Blaise reflects on Crabbe killing himself at the Battle of Hogwarts. Obviously, the canon Battle of Hogwarts didn't happen, but that doesn't mean a different one didn't take place. You can fill in the details yourself, but to me, McGonagall would only take so much before she would toss Snape out on his ass and organize a last stand.

I can't say I had a lot of fun writing this since it was so dark, but it did feel good finishing a story again that isn't a oneshot. Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!


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